


Courage to Continue

by h4t08



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Gen, Post-World War II, Pre-World War II, The Blitz, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:07:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21854230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/h4t08/pseuds/h4t08
Summary: “Success is not final. Failure is not fatal. It is the courage to continue that counts.” Winston ChurchillAn account of what life was like during the war at Nonnatus House.
Comments: 25
Kudos: 19





	Courage to Continue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! 
> 
> I am back with a new story. This is quite different than anything I have ever done for this fandom. The original thought for this story stemmed from the slideshow at SMJ's birthday celebration - the one with SMJ, SE, and SJ standing in front of the wreckage of buildings presumably during the blitz. This story is nearly over a year in the making. 
> 
> I do hope you enjoy it!

** July 1936 **

Reaching up, Louise, now newly christened as Sister Julienne, rings the bell to her new home. Glancing up, she had prayed earlier for a little sunlight to help ease her nerves into this new adventure, yet, the skies, _in their infinite wisdom_ , has remained cloudy, never relieving her of the heat, only intensifying it.

Once she hears the door unlock, she returns her attention back to the adventure at hand; a new challenge, a new home, a new way of life. She had wanted this life, even when she had fought it tooth and nail, and now that she has it, she can’t help but feel her stomach rolling in excited nerves.

“Good morning,” Sister Mary opens the door, her gentle smile quieting the riotous waves crashing against her stomach. “Welcome to Nonnatus House, Sister Julienne.” She widens the door and beckons her in with the flick of her wrist, “Mother Superior had told me that you have just qualified as a midwife and as a nurse.”

“Yes,” she softly answers, taking in all of her surroundings of the older building.

“We are glad to have you here,” Sister Mary leads them deeper into the building towards the dining area. “We have just sat down for breakfast when you had rung the bell. Our Sisters are quite thrilled to meet you.” They are met with a table full of women, all in habits, all with the conviction of Christ guarding their hearts, and a smile to accept their new Sister. “Now, I know you have already met of few of them, but I will reintroduce you.”

Starting at one side of the table, Sister Mary makes the introductions, Sister Julienne trying furiously to remember both names and faces. She had never been very good at remembering names, her brother’s taunts at getting the names of father’s friends wrong making her heart beat rather fast.

“You seem overwhelmed,” an older woman, _Sister Monica… something_ , her mind tries to supply, reaches out to gather her hand. “While my fellow Sisters wish for me to remain silent on the subject, the stars are in alignment now that you have come to join us. Our even number helps to create balance—”

“Oh, give me strength,” Sister Evangelina, a Sister she had met at the Mother House, rolls her eyes.

“Her arrival helps to create balance against the discord that the uneven number seven brings to our house.”

“Sister Monica Joan takes pleasure in her numerology and astrology,” Sister Mary makes her way to the front of the table. “I will spare you the hysterics that had come upon this house when our numbers dropped to six.”

With nowhere else to take her place, Sister Julienne settles next to Sister Monica Joan. “The number of the devil, I believe,” the younger woman smiles.

The older nun’s eyes widen, “That number written thrice within the skillful hand of those who wish to destroy this bountiful land, we shall never speak of the number in its accordance with the affairs of the world.” Sister Monica Joan turns to Sister Mary, “May I please indulge in saying our morning prayer for the feast for which we are about to receive?”

“Last time you had said grace, you spent the majority of our time for nourishment with silly words of someone named Keats,” Sister Evangelina complains. “While you didn’t seem to be bothered by it, the rest of us had to make our morning rounds while stuffing cold egg sandwiches in our mouths.”

“Sister Monica Joan,” Sister Mary holds up her hand to stop an impending fight, “while I find your prayers to be a breath of fresh air, we are running late with the addition of our new Sister.” Bending her head down, she begins grace herself, making it rather quick to the point that by the time she is nearly finished, Sister Julienne had barely clasped her hands together.

While all other women began to eat their meal in earnest, Sister Monica Joan takes advantage of the silence. “I had wanted to quote Martin Luther on the eve of our nations coming together in Germany.”

“I had read in the newspaper, that the Olympics will begin soon,” Sister Julienne mumbles as she begins to eat her food.

“With Adolf Hitler at the helm, I am expecting Germany to take the gold in most categories.”

“Ugh! He is nothing but a bully, that man,” Sister Evangelina cuts into her bread. “I am sure he will seize the gold medals rather than allow his German athletes to earn them fair and square.”

“I’m not sure that I would be comfortable in his country at the time of the games,” Sister Clarence calls out, her food untouched on her plate. “While he puts on a convincing show, my brother witnessed firsthand the power he has against the people whom he deems unworthy or the ones who do not view his opinions as their own.”

“He has seen his country being torn apart by the blasted League of Nations with the Treaty of Versailles.”

“That treaty is meant to stop the Germans from invading again!” Sister Clarence scorns at the same time Sister Evangelina tuts, “It serves them right for starting the war to begin with.”

“In his speeches, he has been quoted as wanting to unify Germany back to the country it was before.” With most women grimacing, Sister Monica Joan takes a deep breath, “Imagine if the League of Nations had divided England into its own individual countries. Wouldn’t you want to see our country together again?”

“While I sympathize with his cause,” Sister Roberts drops her toast onto her plate, their conversation now more pressing, “The Germans had plunged our countries into a war that had cost the lives of millions. Divvying their land is the small price they had to pay for the lives lost.”

Sister Julienne looks back to Sister Monica Joan who seems to take the words to heart, genuinely thinking about them as if she were an accomplished debater. “And if the Germans had won, would they have divided our country like we have done to theirs?”

“No, but we would be forced to hail to the fascist dictator and shot down if we had refused,” Sister Clarence hotly murmurs.

For the first time, Sister Julienne sees Sister Monica Joan pale, “While his words of unification are powerful, his methods are ruthless.”

“And sneaky,” Sister Evangelina cuts in. “He is up to something. Every time I see a picture of him, I am reminded of a small boy stealing a lolly from the jar in the sweets shop.”

“Sister Monica Joan, while I agree with Sister Roberts, I am also reminded of the men Adolf Hitler is helping; ruthless men who wish to dominate the world with power and greed.” Sister Mary looks to all those around the table. “Mussolini attacked Ethiopia and Somaliland with no restraint, killing innocent lives in order to re-establish a Roman Empire. The Japanese had invaded China all for the sake of resources, by all accounts, raping and murdering innocent lives in their path.”

“All the while, the League of Nations did nothing to stop this,” Sister Frances speaks up, “while France, Britain, and the United States refuse to acknowledge any of what is truly going on.”

Sister Evangelina scoffs, “The League of Nations? More like the League of Big-Headed Men who feel the need to congratulate themselves on a job well-done.”

“War is coming,” Sister Clarence murmurs, “whether we like it or not. Hitler, Mussolini, Hirohito, and even this new man from Spain, Franco; they have succeeded in climbing to the top, defeating every whim of opposition.” She looks to Sister Monica Joan, contempt beating in her eyes, “Yet, whose to care if this is all just for a little scrap of land?”

“Sister Clarence,” Sister Mary calls from her seat, “that is enough. We have all made valid points, but now it is time to clean our table and to ready ourselves for a busy day. While our worries are of those abroad, our patient’s worries consist of their child’s next meal or if their husband will be able to secure work for the day.” Standing up, she turns to Sister Julienne, “If you will follow me, Sister, I will show you your cell as well as our medical room.”

Shoving the last bit of toast in her mouth, Sister Julienne stands and follows Sister Mary out while the others begin to clean in silence. Gathering her suitcase from the place where she had left it, they travel up the stairs and down the corridor to the end. The room is small, but she doesn’t mind, finding it suitable to be a place to lay her head when rest is required.

“I will show you around, give you your medical bag, and we will pair together as I conduct my district rounds,” Sister Mary smiles, although Sister Julienne notices that it isn’t as bright as when she answered the door. Glancing out the window, she surmises that a great cloud has settled over England as a whole, the threat of war flirting dangerously too close to their borders than what their Prime Minister is assuring them.

Touring the building, Sister Julienne notices just how old it is, the numerous repairs seen with the naked eye, _yet, this must look lavish to those who live in squalor._

Just as they enter into the medical room, they are met with a young girl playing quietly with her doll while a man tinkers under the sink. “This is our handyman, Mr. Buckle, and his daughter Marlene. His youngest, Dolly, is at home with her mum.”

“Thanks to you Sister Mary,” the young man calls out from inside the cabinet.

“We delivered both of his daughters,” Sister Mary looks onto Marlene with kind eyes and a small smile. “Now, here is your bag, all the tools of our trade in there.” She slides the battered brown bag towards Sister Julienne, “Guard it well.”

“Oh! Sister Mary,” Fred sticks his head out from his ministrations, “I was able to fix that bicycle. It is ready and standing by your own bicycle at your convenience.”

“Thank you, Fred. Your help is much appreciated.” Gathering her own bag, both women quietly walk out of the building, the steep stairs leading down to the street; destination: Poplar. “Sister, I am curious,” Sister Mary places her bag on the back of her bike, “what are your views on the violence of our world?”

“While I have been keeping up with the news as best as I can, I fear that conflict is on the rise.” She places her bag on the back of her seat. “I pray and hope that the leaders of our countries will find a peaceful resolution.” When she looks to the older woman, a powerful wave of fear crashes along her stomach at the terror passing through her eyes.

“I wish I had your optimism, Sister Julienne, but I fear that war will be upon us once again.” She glances up to the cloudy sky, “I remember feeling this jagged edge of anxiety washing over me before the start of the Great War as I do now.” Her soothing voice quivers as her brow dips in trepidation, “War is coming. It might not be tomorrow or the next day, but it will be here and, I’m afraid, that it will be far more gruesome than the war before.”

Reaching out and placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, Sister Julienne quietly murmurs, “Then I shall pray that we both are wrong.”

Silently nodding, both women saddle onto their bicycles and ride down the street.

* * *

“Dear Lord, my heavenly father, what have you sent me to? How could you allow your people, the ones who are in need of your love the most, to suffer?”

Sister Julienne looks to the ceiling, cracks running along the plaster, the cold nip of air cutting down into her bones. It has taken one day – _one day!_ – for her to question herself as a nun, as a nurse in the poorest district of London.

The workhouse, the same ones she had thought were a thing of the past, reminds her that the world is not at peace. Just this morning, her Sisters were discussing the possibilities of war, but, yet, the true war of compassion lies down the road in the last operational Workhouse left in the East End. Sister Mary had been kind, allowing her several moments to center herself when they had gone into the Children’s Ward.

Bile still coats her throat at the sight of that poor child shoved into the corner, her small body lifeless while the others lay in their bed, sickly and in desperate need of love.

 _Failure to thrive._ That was the only reason given in the docket.

\-- Knock, Knock—

Glancing over to the door, she stands, finding both Sister Evangelina and Sister Roberts with a gentle smile and a small slice of cake. “We had gotten home first before Sister Monica Joan could raid the cupboard and saved a little slice for you.”

“Sister Mary had told us, in private, that she had taken you to the Workhouse,” Sister Evangelina murmurs. “Usually it is I who takes the Workhouse rounds, but she had wanted to see if you could stomach the worst part of Poplar.”

Sister Julienne collapses onto her bed, “I fear I wasn’t able to stomach it at all.”

“You’re still here,” Sister Roberts murmurs, rubbing her back with the heal of her hand, “you did not run away, which means you did better than you think.”

“How can we be fearful of a war when the lives down the road are forsaken all for the sake of an able body?” Sister Julienne looks up towards the ceiling. “War seems so stupid compared to the appalling living conditions we force our fellow man to live in.”

“That is why Sister Monica Joan is not allowed to go there,” Sister Evangelina quietly remarks. “It gets her so far down that it takes nearly a full week to get her back into peak order.”

“She was the first midwife to qualify, the first to come to the East End with a midwife bag in one hand and the salvation of her cross in the other.” Sister Roberts gives Sister Evangelina a pointed look. “Her bravery is paramount, single handedly bringing nearly half the children of this parish into the world when men were fighting and dying in a trench during the war.”

“I never knew.” Sister Julienne looks to Sister Evangelina.

“In the beginning she did the work of all of us, by herself.” Sister Evangelina gives a half-cocked smile. “She is the bravest woman I know; so compassionate, so kind, especially when the people of this area know nothing of such affection from outsiders.”

“Your admiration is… is…,” Sister Julienne doesn’t know how to finish her statement.

“Unexpected?” Sister Roberts finishes with a slight smirk. “Despite their harsh words to each other, and believe me, you have not even seen the tip of the iceberg of hostilities between these two strongly opinionated women, they care for each other deeply.”

Sister Evangelina scoffs and rolls her eyes, yet doesn’t say anything to dispute her Sister’s statement.

In one second, the weight on her shoulder lightens, her destination far clearer than when she had begun her prayers, “Sister Evangelina, if you are agreeable, I would like to go with you on your rounds in the Workhouse.” When she sees her starting to object, she hastily adds, “I want to be here, and I know that, despite the inevitable war to come, we can do a lot of good here.”

For the longest time, Sister Evangelina stares at her, unsure of her character, but Sister Julienne stares back, her new-found determination set in stone. “Very well,” Sister Evangelina quietly relents. “But the moment you become ill; I will kick you out. These people see nothing but hardship day in and day out, the last thing they need is your pity or your inability to care for them.”

As Sister Julienne nods, Sister Roberts hands her the plate of cake, “Welcome to Poplar. I think you will do just fine out here.”

* * *

**Early July 1940 **

“It is with great sadness, that we report that Lucille Picard, formerly known to us as Sister Clarence, has passed away while she had bravely served as a nurse during the Dunkirk evacuation. Her heroic actions will not be pushed aside in vein but commemorated within our prayers and actions as our great country now plunges into war. May God have mercy on the very souls that live in our dark times.”

Sister Mary glances up from her letter to see that most of the women around her are in shock by the news of their former sister, some with their handkerchiefs catching their tears.

“NO!” Sister Monica Joan abruptly stands from her chair, it falling to the floor in such a clatter. “She just… she was just here. She… she had told us of her training. She had mentioned nothing of boarding any vessels to rescue our troops.”

Sister Evangelina quietly stands from her own chair, gently reaching out to comfort the older nun. “You know how much she wanted to help. I’m sure the moment volunteers were needed, she had taken the call.”

“And her brother?” Slapping Sister Evangelina’s hands away, Sister Monica Joan looks back to Sister Mary. “Her brother, with whom she loves dearly, will be left in the dark.”

Sister Julienne now stands from her chair, Sister Roberts taking her position behind the delirious nun. “Sister, her brother had died over three years ago.”

“No, she had just received a letter from him telling her of the state of affairs in Germany.” Sister Monica Joan’s brow dips in confusion, her mind visibly trying to make the connections. “He died,” she finally murmurs. “I… I held her in my arms as she cried.”

Sister Evangelina grasps Sister Monica Joan’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “She wanted to help with the war effort.”

“Will Heir Hitler cease his abominations on us, on the innocent lives of those wanting desperately to heal the poor?”

Once she sees that both Sisters Julienne and Evangelina have their older Sister under control, her hysterics thankfully not reaching the heights that they have seen in the past year, Sister Mary quietly informs all of her charges, “We now have all reason to believe that Hitler’s next target will be Britain. The fall of France has been hard to read about, however, now his troops are that much closer to us.”

“But Sister Mary,” Sister Eustace, their youngest novitiate, trembles, “what does that mean for the people of our parish? What does that mean for our work?”

“We have been given black out curtains to help hide the lights. Expecting a similar style of attack as when Germany invaded Poland, he will most likely use the Luftwaffe to their advantage.”

“The birth of life will never cease nor falter during times of war,” Sister Monica Joan murmurs, the three women around her comforting her. “During the Great War, women bore children at a far more superior rate than during times of peace.”

“Talking with Dr. Harrison, we have devised a plan to help with our laboring charges. We will convert the building next to us as a mother and babies ward. During the night, we will be able to help without sacrificing our own lives.”

“And if they choose not to come to us during the day? Or if there should be an emergency?”

“We will have to be vigilant, make these women see reason that the health of their child is just as important as the state of their homes.” Running her finger along the edge of the letter, Sister Mary has the hardest time discussing the next part of her news.

“You have more to say, Sister Mary, something that you fear will drive us away.”

Glad to see Sister Monica Joan back to her usual sharpness, Sister Mary grimaces at how easy the older woman was able to pick up on her strife. “With Poplar being so close to the docks, there are many officials who believe that this area will be a high targeted area. The army has already begun setting up their anti-aircraft artillery.”

“Which will lead to death and destruction far worse than what we had seen during the Great War,” Sister Evangelina finishes, her head shaking in disgust. “Both sides had lost so much and, yet, here we are diving headfirst into another war.”

“Total annihilation,” Sister Monica Joan whispers, her voice shuddering in terror.

“The children will be sent to the countryside where they will hopefully be spared,” Sister Mary continues. “Shelters are being erected, while a small underground walkway will be placed between Nonnotus House and the building next door through the boiler room. It will serve as our own shelter if the bombardment becomes too… too…,” her words falter, the blank stares of the women around her becomes unbearable.

“When the bombardment becomes too overwhelming,” Sister Evangelina strongly calls out. “We, as a collective, have been through far worse. We will survive, just as long as we keep our heads level.”

Sister Mary smiles at Sister Evangelina, sending her a silent thank you for picking up where she had left off. “You are right Sister Evangelina, we have experienced far worse. The construction of the tunnel will begin tomorrow. The building next to us will begin to serve as a hospital within a matter of weeks.”

* * *

“How is Sister Monica Joan?” Sister Mary glances up from her record book as Sisters Evangelina, Roberts, and Julienne walk into her office.

“Quoting some poet whom she refuses to name and spouting off about our planetary alignments,” Sister Evangelina rolls her eyes.

“So, in other words, back to her normal self,” Sister Roberts fills in with a sly grin.

“She took the death of Sister Clarence harder than I had imagined,” Sister Julienne murmurs.

“I remember when both Sisters had taken up the sport of debating in our spare times.” Sister Mary lays down her pencil, memories rushing through her mind at the numerous times she had to hold her tongue from laughing out loud, both women always attempting to have the last smart word. “There would never be a dull moment between those two until the news of her brother’s incarceration and his death came to us.”

“It was as if all of the fight she had used to debate against Sister Monica Joan had syphoned and simmered into making sure the death of her brother was not done in vein.” Sister Roberts brow dip in melancholy. “She had cried many tears during that year, most of them being swept away by Sister Monica Joan herself.”

Sister Mary bites down on her bottom lip, “I fear that was the catalyst for her mood swings and now with the news of her death, we have to prepare for more of these eruptions from her.”

“Oh, pish posh,” Sister Evangelina swipes her hand through the air, “she just needs to be challenged, to have someone who will be her adversary when she becomes too arrogant.”

“And when will you begin your new role,” Sister Roberts asks, her familiar grin nowhere to be seen.

“My new role?” Sister Evangelina looks to Sister Mary, begging her to see reason for the state of their conversation.

Sister Roberts eyes begin to twinkle. “You two already clash and some of your bouts have become legendary.”

“She needs someone book smart to debate against.” Sister Evangelina crosses her arms along her chest. “I am not the right candidate, period, the end.”

“I think I have to agree with Sister Roberts on this one,” Sister Julienne thoughtfully calls between them, always the mediator between two opposing sides. “While she has gained her knowledge through the use of books, you have gained the same wisdom from the use of your hands and experiences. You two will have much to offer each other through debate.”

“So, you are wanting me to pick a fight with her?”

“No, not a fight,” Sister Julienne slowly murmurs, “just enough of a small push to get her mind to think forward instead of staying stationary.”

Shaking her head, Sister Evangelina looks to Sister Mary, “I am assuming that you had called us in here for more pressing reasons other than Sister Monica Joan’s need to have someone push her buttons?”

“I wanted to discuss the idea of rotating schedules with our new hospital. I’ve been talking with Doctor Harrison at length and we both agree that between the four of us, we should rotate shifts every six hours. During air raids, we will all combine forces to help those in need to find shelter.”

“There will be a disruption to our prayers,” Sister Julienne murmurs more to herself, “however, the health and safety of the people comes first.”

“And if it should come to transpire that we are needed elsewhere during a time that is not conducive?” Sister Evangelina’s question acts like steel to glass, shattering the thin line between what is real and what is necessary.

“I am honestly at a loss as to how I can answer that question. I refuse to allow anyone to put themselves in danger, but that also means the people we serve will be in danger as well.” Sister Mary taps her finger against the top of her desk, “I do not have an answer for you just yet. I’m not sure if I will have one for you before the time is needed to make that final call.”

“I pray that we should not have to come up with that strategy, however, I am not that optimistic.” Sister Evangelina stands from her chair, “Leave that decision up to me. I know the area like it is the back of my hand and I know those who can help us if that time does come.”

After she leaves, Sister Roberts is the next to stand, “I will work with Doctor Harrison to help ease the transition between home births and one done in our makeshift hospital. I’m sure with the combined effort between all of us and with the added fear of attack, most women will find our hospital a better option than any other place being offered.”

“If you could also work with the doctor on the number of medicines we will need to stock up on should these air raids go on through the night and day.”

Sister Roberts blushes, “Yes, Sister.”

When Sister Mary and Sister Julienne are left alone, the younger one anxiously says, “I am unsure of what you would like me to do, Sister.”

“I actually have a special project for you Sister Julienne, in which I will teach and assist.” At Sister Julienne’s lifted brow, Sister Mary continues with a small smile. “I want you to become my protégé.”

Sister Julienne blinks several times, visibly trying to internalize the words that had been said to her. “Excuse me?”

“You are a born leader, my dear; one who is compassionate, thoughtful, and is not afraid to admit that she is wrong.”

“But there are so many Sisters who also fit that description,” Sister Julienne pleads, “ones that have been here far longer than I have.”

“While all of our Sisters have unique qualities, you possess the power of mediation. You can truly make yourself objective, which is a hard skill to find in someone.” Sister Mary reaches her hand across the desk, silently asking for Sister Julienne’s trust. “I know this comes as a shock, especially with all of the news we have received today, but I will need to trust someone to carry on with Nonnatus House should I not make it past the war.”

“Do you fear a far deadlier assault?”

“No, but just like Sister Evangelina, I will not be optimistic or foolish enough to think that we will all make it out of this unscathed.” Sister Mary gently squeezes the young woman’s hand. “All I am going to do is to show you the paperwork side of Nonnatus House.”

“Yes, Sister.”

“Good. We shall meet every morning after breakfast until our new rotations begins.” For one single second, clarity brightens along her eyes as to the changes around her. “I have come to depend on you far more than you realize and, I know that must seem burdensome, however, I would trust no one else but you.”

* * *

**September 7, 1940 **

“I’m scared,” a young woman, heavily pregnant, whispers against the violent noises and low groans, the lights flickering as each bomb crashes into the city they call home.

Sister Mary takes her hand, “I know, but we must be brave.” The older woman gathers the young one into her arms, offering her the protection she desperately wants.

With two women within her own embrace, Sister Monica Joan, pulls a book from her scapular, its cover worn and had seen better days. “While I am curious as to the sounds outside of this very tunnel, I think we would all prefer to listen to something to help us put our brave faces on.”

“Just as long as that isn’t Frankenstein,” Sister Evangelina pipes up from the other side of the tunnel, “I think anything would be a god-send.” The woman she is tending to, lets out another quivering moan, her teeth barring down on the wooden spoon.

Sister Monica Joan opens the cover, her fingers gingerly gliding down the edge of the page, her love for the book shining brightly in her eyes. “All children, except one, grows up. They soon know that they will grow up, and the way Wendy knew was this.”

“Nice, long, deep breaths,” Sister Evangelina pants, the young mother in front of her pushing with all her might.

Doctor Harrison closes the door leading in from their small hospital, helping an elderly couple to sit on the floor next to Sister Roberts. “That is everyone,” he swipes the sweat from his brow. “Is all comfortable?”

The laboring mother lets out another groan, one that is tired and in much pain.

“Are you in need of assistance?” He quickly steps over towards the cot.

“We have everything under control, Doctor,” Sister Evangelina gives him a tight smile before retuning back to her patient. “Although you might enjoy ‘Peter Pan’.”

“Ooh,” he turns to Sister Monica Joan, who is reading with genuine delight upon her cheeks, “’Peter Pan was my favorite book when I was a wee lad.”

“I’m sure,” Sister Evangelina murmurs as Sister Roberts catches her laugh with the palm of her hand.

\--CRASH—

A bomb, very close by the sound of it, rattles against the concrete and brick, dust floating down everywhere.

As terrified cries ring out against the flickering light, Sister Julienne rushes to help with the hysterical laboring mother. Drawing another blanket over her legs, she then captures her hand, “You are safe, Jamilla. You and your baby are safe.”

“I can’t have this baby. Not now, not with bombs dropping all around us,” her sobs turn into cries of pain as another contraction hits.

“The world may not be at peace, but you will offer him so much love,” Sister Julienne takes the corner of her blanket and wipes her brow.

As the light above them slows its swing, Sister Monica Joan, begins where she left off, “There never was a simpler happier family until the coming of Peter Pan. I don't know whether you have ever seen a map of a person's mind. Doctors sometimes draw maps of other parts of you, and your own map can become intensely interesting, but—”

The sharp cries of a newborn bursts from the otherwise quiet room, the violent crashes from the Germans sounding miles away. Everyone looks towards the small cot, Sister Evangelina handing the wrapped bundle of joy to his new mother.

“Aren’t you just the sweetest baby,” the young woman weeps, gently kissing his forehead.

“May the Lord bless you and keep you,” Sister Julienne looks on, her eyes glittering with unushered tears. “May the Lord make his face to shine upon you and be gracious to you.” She takes the same corner of the blanket and wipes the baby’s cheek. “May the Lord lift up his countenance upon you and give you peace.”

“Amen,” all of the Sister’s murmur.

“And what shall you name this brave little soldier,” Sister Evangelina gives the new mom a gentle smile.

“Peter,” she looks over to Sister Monica Joan, “with hopes that my little boy will be forever young and brave.”

“Peter is always the dreamer, one who is mischievous, yet spontaneous, smart, and never cautious.” Sister Monica Joan kindly smiles as her fingers stroke the pages. “May I continue?”

“I think that would be most appreciated,” Sister Mary calls out.

As the bombs continue to reign down on them that night, the exciting adventures of Peter Pan and the Darling Children are read to them, helping them to forget – just for a little while – of the mess that will be waiting for them come daylight.

* * *

**September 15, 1940 **

“Bloody hell,” Sister Evangelina whispers under her breath, her words being covered by the rumbling sound of engines high in the sky and the violent crashes of their payloads hitting their presumed targets.

“It’s… oooohhh… it’s too bloody… oooooohhhh… early!”

Sister Evangelina takes her eyes off the road for a split second to check the laboring mother beside her, rocking along in the side car of a motor bike she had taken from the street. “Deep breaths now, Lily,” just as she shows her how, a bomb from high within the bright skies, explodes against one of the buildings behind them, the force of it shooting many fragments of debris against her back.

Almost losing control of the bike altogether, Sister Evangelina straightens the handlebars and accelerates it to as fast as it can manage. “We are almost there,” she shouts over the whirling dervishes above her to the hysterical woman, “deep breaths.”

“But, uuggghh, but the Germans were supposed to—”

“I know, I know,” Sister Evangelina yells back, “Next time I’m on the telephone with Hitler, I’ll make sure to get the Luftwaffe’s bombing schedule.” She turns the sharp corner, brick and rumble blocking her path. “Now, nice, deep breaths.”

Holding onto the edge with both hands, Lily howls in pain as they narrowly dodge falling timber, blazes igniting buildings, or debris littering the road. “Sister?” The young woman reaches down between her legs. “Sister! The baby is – uuuhhhhh – the baby is,” she screams in pain as her labor intensifies.

“Bloody hell!” Driving like a mad woman down the last stretch of road towards the hospital, the blessed sight of Nonnatus House has her thanking the Lord as she parks in front of the hospital. Jumping off of the bike, Sister Evangelina looks to her young patient, “We are…,” she is shocked into silence at the sight of mother holding her baby, both cheeks pale in the hazy sunlight. “Lily?”

CRASH!

Covering both mother and baby as chunks of brick and wood flies everywhere, Sister Evangelina yells, “Lily! If you wish to save your life and the life of your baby, you must find the strength to come with me. I will not leave you behind.”

Lily groans as the dust seeps through Sister Evangelina’s mac, followed by the piercing cry of a newborn.

Reaching down past Lily’s trembling knees, Sister Evangelina blindly digs through her bag until finding her sheers to cut the umbilical cord. Knowing that time is of the essence, the older nun takes the small child in one hand and helps the new mother out of the sidecar with the other.

Once they are inside, they wind their way through the back, Sister Evangelina kicking the door leading to the tunnel.

Doctor Harrison is the one to answer it, his arms automatically reaching out for the young mother ready to collapse.

“Sister!” Sister Julienne is the first to see the ashen nun.

Both Sister Roberts and Sister Monica Joan comes to her aide, the younger one taking the baby from her arms as the latter helps her to the bed next to Lily. “I knew Hitler’s planes were not strong enough to take you down,” Sister Monica Joan smiles.

“The… the placenta needs to be delivered,” Sister Evangelina trembles, adrenaline now wearing off.

“I am on hand, Sister,” Doctor Harrison calls over his shoulder, “and once mother and baby are seen to, I will need to examine your own wounds.”

Sister Evangelina lifts her fingers to her face, “My wounds?”

“Your back and arms are riddled with several wounds, most likely shrapnel,” Sister Mary gently laments. “If you would prefer, I can tend to your wounds.”

“I fear you will be needed, Sister,” Sister Monica Joan murmurs, “since you are next on-call. I will tenderly care for her wounds.”

“Just as long as you keep your planetary alignments to yourself,” Sister Evangelina’s stern glance melts into pools of tears as Lily reaches out for her baby. “Thank you, Sister.” 

* * *

**October 14, 1940 **

“Over here!”

Sister Julienne looks up from the body she had just been praying over to see one police officer waving to Sister Evangelina while another, far younger than any other man she had seen, is vomiting off to the side.

She grips the stiff hand of the poor soul she had found as she stares intently at her brash sister, looking for any clues that her worst fears are unjustified; to find other unfortunate souls rather than the ones they have been scouring the remains of their hospital that was demolished in the previous nights bombardments.

Seeing her Sister, fierce on both her convictions and strength, cower into the ashes and rumble tells her that her prayers go, once again, unanswered. Leaving the body immediately, she rushes over to the recent discovery, only to abruptly stop and to take a few steps back. The mangled and nearly unrecognizable bodies of both Sister Roberts and Doctor Harrison stares back at her, pure fury firing through her veins at the sight of what most will reason is ‘the true consequences of war’.

Bile instantly coats her throat as the stench of death surrounds her. She has seen death before, its long, caliginous tendrils trapping them on this scorched earth, taking with it too many beautiful souls; young, old, righteous, and sinful. Yet, it is this one, the first one she had been connected to that affects her the most.

“NO!” Twirling around, she finds Sister Monica Joan staring in awe of the bodies before them. “It was not her time.” She looks up to Sister Julienne, her expressive eyes now devoid of the passion she finds from their faith. “It was never their time.” Her words leave in a whispered breath, captured by the unusually chilly air that surrounds them.

“No one has a right to die like this,” Sister Evangelina murmurs, her gentle hand brushing away the dirt and ash that covers Sister Robert’s angelic face. “At least she was with someone who made her feel safe.”

“I take no solace in that.” Sister Monica Joan’s anger is indignant and stubborn. “She had a safe place to come to. Why did she not come?”

“She had told us that she would wait for Doctor Harrison, that he was close to the hospital.” Sister Julienne knows that she is repeating what has already been said the previous night when all of the Sisters called out for Sister Roberts to return to the shelter of their bunker.

“That does not give us the answer as to why she refused to stay with us.” The older woman lifts her chin in denial. “If she had stayed with us, then she would have still been alive.”

“She was in love with him.” Sister Mary calls out to their small converged group. “She had told me when I had run after her.”

Sister Julienne shakes her head, the chaotic hours of the blitz melding into one giant nightmare. “She never let on.”

“She never would have if she were not faced with certain death.” Sister Mary bends down onto her knees next to Sister Evangelina. “Come Sisters, lets pray.”

“I am unsure of my own conviction into the power of prayer right now.” Sister Monica Joan’s lip trembles in defeat. “I have prayed and prayed and prayed as Adolf Hitler continues to have bombs reign upon our head. Every time I pray, it is always met with the sight of the bodies of those we cherish and are charged for their well being.”

“I know you are unsure of yourself, Sister. Lord knows, I am finding myself more in doubt than in solace,” Sister Mary glances down at the ashen faces of the people they all had considered friends, “however, we have to continue on, both in courage and conviction. We have lost many people and we will continue to do so despite our prayers; however, we have to remain optimistic that despite Hitler’s bombardments, he has yet to capture England.”

Sister Julienne reaches out and grasps the older nun’s wrinkled hand. “Please, Sister.”

And when the orderly had come to take their bodies from the frenzied, fast-paced scene around them, only then did the women of Saint Raymond Nonnatus converge together to allow tears to break and sorrow slip into a numbing pain.

* * *

**October 27, 1940 **

“Ow!” Sister Julienne instantly presses down on the thin cut made by the course paper. “Blast it all to hell,” she murmurs against her finger before licking her wound, the bitter taste of blood coating the tip of her tongue.

“I’d say that the Führer has done a far better job of that these past few months.” Sister Julienne looks up to see Sister Evangelina smirking from the door.

She bows her head, shame and anger now a common occurrence in her heart, she has to tell herself quite forcefully to plaster a smile onto her face. “I’m sorry Sister for my—”

“No worries,” Sister Evangelina swipes her hand through the air. “May I come in?”

“Of course,” she stands from behind the desk, her desk now, and invites her to sit.

Sister Evangelina quietly closes the door before settling in the wooden chair, one of the ones salvaged from their make-shift hospital that had been destroyed what seems like so many years ago. “How are you fairing along?”

She pinches the inside of her palm to help keep the tears at bay. “Good.” Her throat closes in on itself, her heart literally caving in as she feels a mountain of tears gathering along the edge of her lashes. “Actually…,” she stares down into her lap, “angry, resentful, depressed all rolled into one perpetual ball.” She petulantly pushes a stack of papers off of her desk in one swoop, the action not even close to helping her resolve any of the tumultuous feelings tumbling in her belly.

“I figured as much,” her voice, hard as steel, helps Sister Julienne to calm her over-zealous and childish behavior. “However, despite all of the death and destruction that surrounds us, I am comforted by the fact that Sister Mary had chosen you for this position. She had done it for a reason and, far be it from me, to question her judgement.”

The use of her former Sister’s name brings on fresh tears, the sight of her mangled body still part of her reoccurring nightmares. “She should be here.”

“But she’s not and there’s no reason to bellyache over the what ifs of the things that are out of our control.” Sister Julienne finally strikes the courage to look to her Sister. “We were not the ones to send her out. We were not the ones dropping bombs. And we were certainly not the ones who started this whole mess to begin with.” Her eyes are a cool sea of blue that helps to slow the waves that have been pitching in her belly since the death of Sister Mary. “She said it best when Sister Roberts had died; that no matter what, we have to have both courage and conviction to continue on.”

She swallows past her parched throat, “And if I cannot?”

“You must,” Sister Evangelina reaches across the desk and captures her hand. “Sister Mary would not have chosen you to run Nonnatus House if she knew you didn’t have faith in yourself.” She gives her a gentle squeeze. “We all have faith in you.”

Her words, so simple when you pull apart into its own individual meaning, inflicts a surge of warmth that starts at the top of her head and cascades down to the tips of her toes. “I will need your strength and your faith in desperate times such as this.”

“You’ve always had it, Sister, and you always will.” Sister Evangelina smiles before patting her hand. “Now, I was able to talk to a few people and I think I was able to acquire a motorbike for us to use.”

Sister Julienne smiles complicity, “I think we will divide our rota by distance. Obviously you and Sister Gertrude will take on the outer district, while myself and the others will cover the rest on bicycles.”

She shrugs her shoulders, “Suit yourself.” She stands and makes her way towards the door. “I’ll have Sister Gertrude sent up here with some tea and biscuits.”

“Sister?” Sister Evangelina turns back to her. “Thank you, for everything.”

* * *

**December 30, 1940 **

_“Our beacon still stands while the ruins surround it. Our will unchanged. We shall rebuild. We shall continue on.”_ The radio broadcaster takes a shuddering breath. “ _We shall never surrender. Never.”_

All Sisters huddle around the radio, the harrowing account of Hitler’s siege to burn down St. Paul’s Cathedral still causing their hearts to beat loudly into the silent air. After a moment of silence, he announces, “ _We are once again on the brink of a war to end all wars. We must prevail_.”

“God help us,” Sister Evangelina murmurs.

“ _May God protect us and those who will one day fight against the tyranny of evil. God save England. God save the King_.”

Switching off the radio before he can officially sign off, Sister Monica Joan silently turns towards the dark hall and disappears within its shadow.

All of the Sisters glance her way, exhaustion etched into every breath they take, their spirits as bombarded as the night sky. Their hopes, which had risen within the quiet nights since their Christmas meal, now lays crushed and crumbled on the floor by their feet.

“I’m scared, Sister.” Sister Julienne glances up to see silent tears trailing down Sister Eustace’s cheeks. “What if the Germans succeed in the capture of England? What if they succeed in burning our city? What if—”

“There is no reason to worry over the what ifs of the things that are out of our control.” The strength in her voice surprises even herself. “We have to believe that God and our fellow countrymen will protect us.”

“But that protection comes at a cost; a new generation of men and women becoming a slave to the same nightmares that plagues my father from the war that should have ended all wars.” Sister Gertrude reaches out and rubs the younger woman’s back. “It was hard enough to see it in him.”

Sister Julienne sits silently in her chair, her words having neither the strength nor conviction to comfort her sister. She remembers the nights she would wake in the dead of night startled by the blood-curdling screams of her own father. And now, as she thinks back to the last three months they have endured night after night of bombs ravaging their small corner of the world, of how many days she has been ripped away from her nightmares with her voice hoarse from screaming into her pillow.

Glancing around the room, she notices that all of the strong women that surrounds her are thinking the same thought as her; that their parent’s nightmares have become their own. Her heart literally shatters. For the hundredth time in so many hours, she wishes that Sister Mary was still with them. _At least she knew what to say._

“We have each other.” Everyone looks to Sister Monica Joan who stoically stands in the door, a well-loved book cradled within her arms. “By the defeated voice of the normally undefeated Mr. Belfrage, I am under the impression that we are in need of the always mischievous Peter Pan.”

For the first time in so many hours, so many months it sometimes feels like, Sister Julienne smiles. “That sounds quite lovely.” Standing up from her chair, she makes her way to the older woman. “Come Sister, you can begin reading when we have reached our designated shelter.”

* * *

**March 21, 1941 **

One by one, they climb out from the rubble of destroyed buildings, singed scraps of wood and half burnt furniture; the scene around them catastrophic. Buildings that were once homes now in flames, some under control, some as wild as the children that used to run through the streets. Bodies line the destroyed road, most modestly covered by thin, white blankets, while families desperately search for lost loved ones.

“How can we help?”

Sister Evangelina rolls up her sleeves despite the frost still nipping the air. “Search and rescue, medical, or spiritual. Take your pick.”

While the older ones know their place and job, Sister Julienne helps to disperse their newer sisters based mainly on their strengths.

Minutes melt into hours, the number of dead bodies quickly outweighing the living. For the most part, Sister Julienne is able to block out the pain, her soul numb to it’s sharp, jagged edge, until she sees both of her strongest sisters leaning over one body in prayer. Her heart crumbles into tiny pieces when she sees the broken woman. “Marlene and Dolly?”

“In the country with family,” Sister Evangelina answers.

Sister Julienne falls to her knees in between her sisters. “Then let us continue to pray for the safe return of Mr. Buckle.”

“Will they cease their cowardly assault on us?” Sister Monica Joan brushes back an errant strand of hair of the once joyful woman. “This lovely woman has never trespassed onto German soil, never engaged a German National in battle. Her only crime is the home she had chosen.”

Sister Julienne lays a gentle hand onto the older woman’s shoulder, her quiet ruminations floating along the cool rush of salty air.

Sister Evangelina glances up and murmurs, “I will contact the war office today to dispatch a telegram to him.”

“I will contact her sister so that she may inform her family.” A sudden strike of anger, so volatile, charges up her spine, causing her to stand and to hide amongst the rubble that liters the once thriving street. She can feel her sister’s presence behind her, standing back just far enough to give her the space she needs to control her emotions. “We have lost so many people, good people.” Tears prick along the corner of her eyes, threatening to fall as swift as the bombs that invades the night sky.

“Even the darkest night will end, and the sun will rise.” The warmth of Sister Evangelina’s embrace soothes her quarreling mind.

“I knew you had to be well versed in literary classics.” Both women look to Sister Monica Joan, Sister Julienne choking down a laugh. “Although,” her lined face sours, “I never thought that you would be a romantic.”

For her part, Sister Evangelina sheepishly blushes and, this time, Sister Julienne laughs under her breath. “My mother would read us the book. It wasn’t ‘Peter Rabbit’ by a long shot, however it was time spent as a family.”

“Sisters?”

The women turn to the voice of a familiar man with a camera. Within a quick click of his lens, he offers them a mischievous smile. “St. Paul is Churchill’s beacon of hope. The Sisters of St. Raymond Nonnatus is ours.” With one more quick snap, the young photographer disappears amongst the workers of the latest catastrophe.

“You know,” Sister Evangelina smirks, “I can remember a time when young Charlie Robinson would throw pebbles at the wheels of my bicycle.”

“If my memory serves me, you assisted in the birth of his sister’s first newborn the first day Hitler’s planes began their ridiculous siege over us.” Sister Monica Joan captures her elbow. “Come, Sister, there is much to do.”

* * *

**May 11, 1941 **

“Quick! Get as much water and sand as we can!” Sister Evangelina turns to her two newly christened Sisters cowering in the corner, clinging to each other for dear life. “The least you can do is to keep the door open.” She rolls her eyes as she runs towards the back of the building, putting out small fires with the sand that she could carry.

“Sister!” Sister Julienne comes running up to her, two fresh buckets of sand by her side. “With the help from the fire brigade, they were able to put out much of the fire.”

They rush through the narrow halls of their home, rubble lining the charred walls. “I wish I can say that the worst is over, however, after nearly a year of bombardment, one should never assume.”

Sister Julienne is about to agree when they both turn the corner to see the back of their building completely demolished, crumbled bricks mixing with burning wood, water dripping down from the shattered ceiling. What used to hold a large chapel for special occasions now lays in ruin, the sound of rumbling engines still littering the night skies above them.

“Good lord,” Sister Evangelina murmurs under her breath.

In the middle of their bombarded home, Sister Monica Joan stands on the tallest pile of rubble throwing sticks and rocks into the air as if the sheer force or her anger could bring down a German bomber. Quickly scrambling out under open skies, both women captures the eldest by her arms. She puts up a good fight, slipping out from their grasps just to return to her position.

“Sister, please come with us.”

“Just so they can bomb us.” She gathers rocks from under her feet, her hands blackened by soot and her fingers bleeding from her contempt. “No building is safe.”

“For the love of god,” Sister Evangelina is successful at capturing her waist, “there are many things to attend to. Those rocks will knock out either one of our sisters or a firefighter.”

“But they have demolished our chapel, the lives of Sister Gertrude and Sister Frances gone because a German bomber recklessly thought that we construct and provide ammunition for the war effort.”

“But they have not demolished our spirit which was Hitler’s goal when he began this lofty goal of defeating us.” With all three women under the cover of what is left of the roof, Sister Evangelina gently captures Sister Monica Joan’s hand. “We have lost too many good people to count, but we have prevailed.”

“I feel…,” she glances over her shoulder at the sight of her sisters cover in white sheets, “I feel my spirit slipping away. What if I should lose you?” She turns to Sister Julienne. “Or you?”

“I have felt that way myself; angry at the loss of life, helpless at the sight of all of the destruction that surrounds us, terrified of what tomorrow will bring.” Sister Julienne grabs onto her other hand. “But then, I am reminded of what Sister Mary had told us when we had found Sister Roberts and Doctor Harrison under the wreckage of our make-shift hospital; that we have to have both courage and conviction to carry on.”

“And what of our chapel, our home?”

“We will rebuild.”

With both of their assurances, Sister Monica Joan finally relaxes her muscles. “What of the rest of our home?”

“We are still putting out small flames,” Sister Julienne informs.

“You, though, are going to the kitchen where we have set up a make-shift clinic.” Sister Evangelina begins to walk her in that direction, her voice stern. “You have a nasty gash on your arm and god knows the state of your fingers.”

* * *

**September 20, 1941 **

“So come with me, where dreams are born, and time is never planned. Just think of happy things and your heart will fly on wings, forever, to Neverland.”

Photographs adorn the newly christened chapel, small handkerchiefs with the names of the sisters that they have lost since the beginning of the war surrounding them. There are far too many tears that have been shed as each casualty is named, a wrench in their hearts as memories of their smiles fill their minds.

Yet, it is only when Sister Monica Joan lays down her beloved ‘Peter Pan’ at the alter does the mood grow somber and thoughtful.

Now, as the women are free to walk about, Sister Julienne picks up a picture of Sister Mary, her eyes briefly falling on a picture of Sister Roberts and Doctor Harrison together. She traces the outline of her veil, grief overcoming her in catastrophic waves.

“I am comforted by the fact that she watches over us.”

Sister Julienne grits her teeth, one lone tear falling down her cheek. “I wish she were still with us.”

“She will always be with us, not matter what should happen.” Sister Jesu Emmanuel wraps her arm around her waist. “Despite their wings, I feel as if they – all of these magnificent people – have never truly left, protecting you and the other sisters from the same fate that god had bestowed upon them.”

Sister Julienne looks around the room at all of the smiling faces captured by cameras and the somber faces of those remembering them. “We will carry on their good deed by continuing to serve the people who need us the most.” Her wondering eyes fall on Sister Monica Joan who is wistfully looking at Sister Clarence. “Excuse me.” She carefully steps next to the elder sister, a gentle hand capturing her shoulder.

“I miss our debates the most.” She glances over her shoulder with a sad smile on her trembling lip. “She was sharp, never willing to give in on a mere whim.” The tip of her finger traces along the nurses uniform she was given before volunteering for the rescue at Dunkirk. “I sometimes wonder if my mind has gone feeble in her absence.”

“I was meant as her replacement after we received the letter of her passing,” Sister Evangelina murmurs on the other side. “I quickly learned that no one could replace her, and no one ever will.”

“I don’t want to forget her,” Sister Monica Joan struggles to keep her tears at bay, “or them.”

Sister Evangelina gives a hopeful smile. “These women are unforgettable, the impact they made on our lives forever marked in the ways we have changed for the better.” 

“May I make a suggestion as to the significant chasm that Adolf Hitler kindly left us in the great hall that used to be our chapel?”

Sister Evangelina rolls her eyes, “We have told you time and time again, a bowling alley would not be appropriate.”

Sister Monica Joan replies with a bored smile, “While it would bring such joy and happiness to our community, I feel our resources would be better spent if we converted that area into a vast garden.” At their silence, she quietly adds, “Sister Clarence and I would often discuss how a garden with a bountiful selection of vegetables and a bright assortment of flowers could improve the health of our patience as well as ourselves.”

“I find that to be an excellent idea.” Sister Julienne warmly smiles. “If you shall make the inquiries, then I will pass it on to the Mother House for approval.”

“I find that they will approve with posthaste after the amount of mold spores I have seen maturing just within the past two weeks.” With a complacent smile, Sister Monica Joan folds Sister Clarence’s picture under her arm and quickly slips from the room.

“Half-a-crown says that she’s been growing her own mold spores since the morning after we were bombed.” Sister Julienne presses her lips together to keep from laughing out loud from Sister Evangelina’s bet.

“Come along. There should be tea already set up in the dining room.”

* * *

**December 8, 1941 **

_“I would like to bring you to the pictures this Saturday, if you have agreed to no other engagements.” His smile, so patient, so vibrant, makes her stomach flip inside out._

_While she enjoys spending time with him, she is not sure how to answer him. “I… I would like to very much—”_

_“Splendid!” His enigmatic smile reaches his eyes, his excited energy too pure to rip it to shreds._

_Perhaps, she silently amends, that I can meet with Sister Gertrude at a different time, maybe when I am more confident with my decision. Just as she turns to him to give him a complacent smile back, the bright sunny street that they had been walking down melts away to the bomb riddled homes of Poplar, Charlie nowhere to be seen._

_“Sister!”_

_She turns towards the voice, so sure that it is Sister Mary calling out her name._

_“Sister!”_

_She can’t see her, the thick fog mixing with the kicked-up ash obscuring her view._

“Sister!”

Gentle hands capture her shoulder, wrenching Sister Julienne from the dream she has had to endure for many months to find the very young Sister Prudence at the edge of her bed, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. “What is wrong?” She instantly steps out of bed, the sky now dark from when she first took her rest. “Is it another bombing?”

“It is, but not here.” Sister Prudence opens the robe for her. “America has been attacked by the Japanese.”

“Dear Lord.” Racing out of her bedroom, both women turn into the parlor to see that all of their sisters are crowded around the radio.

“If you are now tuning in, the United States of America has been attacked by the Japanese at Pearl Harbor. We are still receiving many reports, however this is what we know; the Japanese have destroyed many of the American’s naval carriers and destroyers. Many people are dead, countless more are injured, although we will not – excuse me – we are receiving new information.”

The radio crackles in silence, the sound of paper being snatched and silently read.

“When did this happen?”

“I had heard through the radio just as I left Lisbon buildings. I came straight here to turn on—”

“Shh!”

“Dear god in heaven…,” the radio once again goes silent. “We have just received word that right at this moment, naval crews are working hard to rescue men still trapped in the USS Oklahoma.” Many of the women gasp, some of the younger ones clinging to their friends. “The battleship, which had suffered a bombardment of attacks is now sinking into the harbor, carrying along with it her crew.”

“That is how my brother died.” Sister Prudence seeks further comfort within Sister Monica Joan’s arms. “He drowned with the rest of the crew.”

“This is no longer a European war.” The announcer mournfully laments. “Our world is once again at war with itself.” His voice cracks, the emotions being felt through the radio waves. “We are staying on the air and will report when we hear any further developments. May god show mercy on the American troops affected by this attack. God save England. God save the King.”

The radio crackles in the heavy silence before an advertisement for bomb shelters comes on. Sister Evangelina reaches out and turns off the radio with a final click of the knob. Most in the room lose sight of their own consciousness with the inestimable tick tock of the passage of time.

“I crawled in a spirit-haunted place, Made wild by souls that moan and mourn; And Death leered by with mangled face - Ah God! I prayed, I prayed for dawn.” Sister Monica Joan presses Sister Prudence into her embrace, squeezing her shoulder in solidarity. “Let us pray for dawn for all of the men.”

All of the women gather into a tight circle and begin their prayers.

* * *

**June 9, 1944 **

“They’ve made it!” A young boy comes crying into one of the parish halls that has been resurrected since the blitz. “The Allied forces have established the beach along France.” He flushes bright pink when he notices that all eyes are on him with rapt attention. “The Brits have begun sending supplies across the channel.”

After a full ten seconds of silence, most still digesting this new information, the hall with nuns and new mothers alike erupt in rowdy cheers.

Sister Julienne takes it all in, euphoria bursting out of her at the wonderful news.

“Hopefully all of this malarkey with Hitler ends by Christmas,” Sister Evangelina mutters to her, the volume of chatter rising considerably since the good news.

“It certainly would be a Christmas miracle,” Sister Julienne sighs before glancing down at her clipboard at her next patient. 

* * *

**May 8, 1945 **

_Oh, my dearest friend_ , Sister Julienne looks at the picture of Sister Mary that she now keeps at her desk before going back to her letter, _the war is finally over. For so long, we have had to endure the continuous string of bad news, the threats of awful dreams, and the momentary lapses of hopelessness, especially on those hard day._

_We have made it, out from the rubble, to find the skies once again bright with hope and longing._

_I remember, the day we found Sister Roberts dead, you had told to us that ‘we have to continue on, both in courage and conviction’. There were many days, far too many to count, that I had relied on what you had said to get me through the nightmares that plagued me both day and night, during times of wakefulness and times of fitful sleep._

_We have continued on and, in the end, we have become stronger in both our courage and conviction._

_We miss you, sweet Sister, and I will never forget you._

Signing the letter, she folds it into an envelope and stands from her desk. As she walks out into their fruitful garden, she notices that Sister Monica Joan it tending to the blooming flowers with a picture of Sister Clarence by her side. In the distance, she sees Sister Evangelina placing a small bouquet of flowers underneath their small plaque commemorating all of the Sisters they had lost during the war, a staggering total of seventeen.

Waiting for Sister Evangelina to finish her prayers, she steps up behind her when she hears her whisper ‘Amen’. “May I add this letter to the bouquet?”

“Is it to Sister Mary?”

“Yes.” She lays the letter next to the flowers.

“Sometimes, it still is painful to think that so many of our Sisters lost their lives to this war.” Sister Evangelina takes in a shaky breath. “I hope to never see another war like this again.”

“I had reached my limit after the first one,” Sister Monica Joan stands next to Sister Evangelina, “although, it seems as if our politicians had not.”

“Then let us pray that the men and women who take charge in foreign policy has found their own courage and conviction to stop this from ever happening again.”

* * *

**November 20, 1963 **

“Wow.” Sister Julienne looks up from her letter to find young Timothy Turner pulling out a stack of picture frames, his eyes bright with curiosity. “Who are all these women?”

Standing from her desk, she walks behind the young man to see a photograph of Sisters Monica Joan, Clarence, and Evangelina sitting at their old dining table, knee deep into a heady discussion. “This was a long time ago, perhaps a few years after I joined Nonnatus House.”

“Sister Monica Joan looks younger in this picture. Who is she?” He points to the sister he had never met.

“Her name was Sister Clarence. She used to challenge Sister Monica Joan to many rousing debates.”

“Do you think we can use this picture for the slideshow?”

Grief hits her with such a force that she nearly falls to the ground. The innocent picture of her young sister reminding her so much of Barbara Hereward. “She…,” she swallows hard, trying in earnest to keep her teas at bay, “she died during the evacuation of Dunkirk. She was a nurse on one of the cruisers sent to rescue the soldiers.”

“Do you think it would make Sister Monica Joan happy to see her?”

“I’m not sure. She had taken her death rather hard, that for years, even after the war, she would carry her picture around wherever she went.”

He sets the frame down next to him. “What about this one?”

“That is Sister Roberts and Doctor Harrison, whom had both died during the blitz.”

“They look very happy together,” he studies the old newspaper clipping, the candid shot capturing both unguarded, no doubt resurrecting memories of his own parents.

“I like to think that they are now.”

He sets the frame down and lifts up the next one. “She is the one that you have on your desk.”

“She was my predecessor, having died during the blitz as well. She was…,” she reaches out and folds the frame within her wrinkled hands, “she was incredibly brave.”

“How many of your sisters died during the war?”

“Seventeen.” One tear slips down her cheek. “Those were dark times.”

“What about this picture of you, Sister Evangelina, and Sister Monica Joan?” He holds up the photo that young Charlie Robinson had taken after an awful night.

She is about to lament that it was taken just a few minutes after finding Mrs. Buckle’s body under the rubble, yet she stops herself. Staring at the black and white picture, she finds pride in both her and her Sisters at their resolve during a traumatic time. While memories of the war still gives way to horrible nightmares, this pictures shows the strength of their courage and conviction.

Glancing down at Sister Mary, then at Sister Roberts, and at Sister Clarence; she lifts her chin and nods. “I think that would be a great picture to use in Sister Monica Joan’s slideshow.”

“I’ll make sure to take care of it and to bring it back when we are finished with it.”

“That would be much appreciate, Mr. Turner.”

Placing the other frames gingerly back in the box, he stands and smiles kindly. “I’m going to check with Nurse Dyer to see if she received the movie from Nurse Franklin. Thank you for letting me look through your photographs.” He gathers the small box of pictures and film from when Sister Monica Joan was younger into his hands.

“Thank you for bringing them out.” She places the picture of Sister Mary in the box as well. “It is always nice to remember the people who had a hand in shaping one’s self as a person.”

“Have a good evening.” With one last smile, he disappears out of the door.

Settling back in her chair behind her desk, Sister Julienne looks to Sister Mary’s photograph that has remained a fixture on her desk since the end of the blitz. Taking out a fresh piece of paper, she writes down the words that has seen her through times of joy and sorrow, through death and life.

_We have to continue on, both in courage and conviction._

Folding it three times over, she slips it in her pocket before returning to her letter.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this story! 
> 
> While there were many resources to conduct my research, most of those resources did not have specific dates in relation to the bombings of the East End. If there is anything glaringly wrong with any of the dates, please let me know. 
> 
> If I don't post anything before then, I hope everyone has the most amazing holiday season with you family and friends.


End file.
